


Redecorating

by butterflycell



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, Unashamedly Domestic, lazy morning bed!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-31
Updated: 2012-03-31
Packaged: 2017-11-02 20:15:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflycell/pseuds/butterflycell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles wakes up to find something very unusual on his ceiling and he's certain that there's only one person responsible for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redecorating

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luvinjrandsmoke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luvinjrandsmoke/gifts).



> Inspired by a photo of James McAvoy that's been doing the rounds on tumblr. I made a comment and was then poked and pleaded with for fic based around it! You can find the post here: [x](http://luvinjrandsmoke.tumblr.com/post/20198081063/butterflycell-luvinjrandsmoke)
> 
> ((please let me know if that link doesn't work!))
> 
> Anyway, it's really just completely unashamed fluff and domesticity - cos everyone needs that once in a while! This is post!beach-divorce and I've twisted the plot because of reason and because I needed there to be no angst in sight.

It was a lazy morning. Their latest mission had been a success and everyone had been determined to recuperate for at least a day. Charles hadn't minded in the slightest.  
  
The others – _the children_ , he thought – had worked more closely than he'd ever seen, each one of them helping and guiding the others and getting more from themselves than Charles had ever hoped for them to achieve. Their focus had been honed to a deadly precision and while that unnerved him somewhat, he couldn't stop himself from feeling a small swell of pride at the memories of the last few days.   
  
Now though, they were all fast asleep, sprawled across their respective beds as any other teenager was want to do at a weekend. He could sense them all, each one perfectly blissful in whatever dream them were entertaining them. For his part, Charles rolled over, closer to the warm body on the other side of his bed and felt a lazy arm pull him closer as he drifted back off to sleep.  
  
It was a lazy morning, he could spend a bit longer in bed.   
  
–  
  
The next time Charles became aware of his surroundings, he sensed it was a little later in the day. Sean was watching cartoons downstairs, Hank was just beginning to stir but Alex and Raven were still fast asleep.   
  
He yawned and stretched, fully intending to doze a little longer when his arm landed on cold, empty linen. All of a sudden, he was a little more awake, sleep shaking itself sharply from his mind. Keeping his eyes closed, he tried to relax as he gently sought out the feel of Erik's mind – and there he was, in the kitchen, making coffee.   
  
He pulled back, not nudging or pressing against the other man's mind, just letting himself calm at the knowledge that he was still there.   
  
It had been almost a year since the incident on the beach and Charles still struggled to think of it with any sense of detachment. Spending three months in a wheelchair and a further five on crutches tended to do that to a person. Erik had struck out on his own for a grand total of four months before their teams had collided in search of a particularly militant band of humans out for their heads.   
  
It had been hard, seeing Erik as Magneto, in that helmet where all he could feel was a blank, dead nothingness. It had given him chills each time he was within range, had set his teeth on edge and his gut churning. They day Erik had taken it off, sitting across the table from him in the kitchen of the mansion, Charles had been very glad for the chair he sat on.   
  
It hadn't been something momentous and even now he couldn't quantify what it was that had made him react in that manner, but when the helmet was settled to one side, Charles had felt something tiny slide and click into place, deep in his mind, almost unnoticeable. That slight movement had shown him just how skewed his mind had been for those few months. It was like everything had been tilted through just a few degrees, but now it all lay flat and his footsteps were that little bit more confident.   
  
He'd felt it before, he knew, to a smaller degree. He'd felt it on the boat, when he'd sensed the flexing of the yacht's anchor and chain, when he'd dived into dark water to grab hold of a complete stranger with a brilliant, terrifying ability.   
  
Charles had made many mistakes in his life, but he'd promised himself he wouldn't lose Erik, not again. Forgiveness had been easy, though the trust had taken more work – it was still fragile, even now.   
  
He blinked his eyes open, aware of the fact that he wouldn't be going back to sleep any time soon. He was on his side with a view out across the grounds. Sunlight was pouring in and everything seemed to glow a little to his still hazy eyes.   
  
The room had been slowly and subtly transformed since Erik had agreed to move in and where there would once have been old, heavy, overly-ornate dressings to the windows and bed, there were now light, simple curtains and bedclothes. Charles had noticed the gentle changes and accepted them easily.   
  
It had started with some things scattered across the surfaces, Erik's books piling up on his side of the bed, his clothes filling up the empty spaces in the wardrobe. Then he'd changed the bed covers and used a new set, the seasons had changed and warmed and the heavy drapes were swapped out for ones that didn't constitute a workout when opening them.   
  
The room was lighter, less close and Charles had to admit that Erik's taste had made the room feel more comfortable than it had ever really been. Charles no longer went to bed with the feeling of the walls closing in around him. He suspected it had been that very sensation which had moved Erik to act. Too many bad memories of being chained to tables and locked in cells and Charles really didn't blame him.   
  
He rolled onto his back, an arm still slung across his chest, and rubbed his eyes. His hand was halfway to his forehead when he looked up to one of the most unexpected sights he could ever recall having seen.   
  
The ceiling above him was littered with various objects, some material, some objects, forming a strange series of rippling drapes. On closer inspection, he realised the material was really clothing and that the clothes were, in fact, the majority of his wardrobe. Trousers, cardigans, coats, all pinned up by their buttons, zips or other objects. He could see a couple of watches, belts and cuff-links studded across the tapestry like an asymmetric chesterfield.   
  
He frowned, eyes focussed on a particular belt, the leather hanging down at a rather precarious angle.   
  
' _Erik?_ ' He sent his mind out gently, not pushing the words into him, but just towards him.   
  
“Yes, Charles?” He chose that moment to stroll into the room, coffees in hand. He was wearing a pair of flannel trousers, no tshirt to speak of and Charles was torn between continued consternation at the state of the ceiling, amusement at the act itself and pride at how comfortable Erik was these days. He must've run into at least Sean in the kitchen and it wasn't all that long ago that he refused to be anything less than dressed before leaving the bedroom.   
  
“Is there a particular reason that my wardrobe seems to be attached to the ceiling?” Charles looked at him pointedly and Erik just grinned, putting one mug down and holding the other out. He pushed himself upright and took the hot mug as Erik settled himself back under the covers.   
  
“I was rather hoping that you would decide that getting out of bed was... _inadvisable,_  considering that you would have no clothes to put on.” Erik smiled and Charles had the distinct impression it was because of something in his head, rather than the situation.   
  
He put down his mug and turned to find Erik watching him carefully. He regarded him for a moment before moving closer and settling himself across Erik's thighs, bracing his arms against the headboard on either side of his face. He was smirking, his lips curled knowingly and Charles raised his eyebrows slightly as hands moved around his waist, holding him firmly in place.   
  
“That's quite an elaborate ploy.” Charles leaned forwards, their noses almost touching, doing his best to keep his face solemn and impassive.   
  
“It was more entertaining than just locking the wardrobe doors.” Erik closed the gap, his words were a murmur against Charles' lips and he smiled, kissing him gently. Charles hummed his approval and felt something shift between them, just about readying himself for whatever was about to happen.   
  
Erik's arms tightened and he kissed him back hard, turning and twisting them so they were lying down. Erik hovered above him, a playful, slightly predatory grin fixed on his face again and Charles laughed gently conceding to the idea of staying there, wrapped in the warm with Erik, for just a little bit longer.


End file.
